


Three Days of the Greater North-Eastern Annual Vampire Symposium and Everything In Between

by solarfemm



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bucky Barnes’ vampire granddad, Clint dies, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, M/M, Natasha Lives, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), References to Depression, Vampires, do not copy to another site, this is canon-compliant but there are vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-11-09 10:42:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20852111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarfemm/pseuds/solarfemm
Summary: “Vampires… are real.” Although he sounds shocked, Steve doesn’t look it. He looks like he wants someone to beat him over the head until things make sense again.“Hey, it’s chill,” Bucky says, sipping on his cranberry juice box. “You’re made from science. I’ve got a metal arm. An alien regularly swings by to get me shitfaced on space juice. It’s whatever.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> while this is inspired by Blade's return to the MCU there is no Blade in this fic and it borrows lore more from True Blood than the BCU (Blade Cinematic Universe)
> 
> massive huge extraordinary thanks to hilarityplease who saves my ass everyday with her immense knowledge of marvel lore and greater north-eastern states

Bucky likes his life, now that he’s not being continually drafted into war. He gets to watch as much tv as he wants, he’s found a favourite type of juice that comes pre-packaged in little boxes, and he and Steve can hang out in their Manhattan apartment when Steve’s not on Avengers missions. They’ve had a chat about it, how Steve isn’t sure if he even wants to be an Avenger anymore, because he’s not quite Captain America now he’s given the mantle to Sam, but he’s more than just Steve Rogers; for lack of anything better to do, he Avenges. 

Bucky would be lying if he said during their late night chats after Steve comes home exhausted that he didn’t wish Steve would just retire already, and spend time with him. He can’t say that, though. He wouldn’t be able to handle the way Steve’s face would twist in discomfort at having to let Bucky down and say, “That kind of life isn’t enough for me,” because Bucky’s flaming pile of terrible memories is high enough that he doesn’t need to add a new one to it.

He’s perched on his yoga mat in the sunlight as the tv plays some horrible game show when Steve emerges from what Bucky is now thinking of as his lair. Steve goes in there, makes strange noises as he pulls his body back together, and passes out for eighteen hours. After the first three or four times he did that in the war, after popping joints out of their sockets and damn near ripping off fingers handling the shield, Bucky stopped being alarmed and grew only mildly annoyed that Steve wasn’t taking this whole thing more seriously. Get stabbed in the neck? Just a flesh wound. Lose a finger to frostbite? Keep the bastard chilled until you can sew it back on. Meanwhile, Bucky was doing his damnedest not to get blown up or kill himself from the horror of it all with only Steve’s morals to guide him. Worrying about Steve all fell to Bucky, again.

He thinks about it now as Steve comes to join him in the living room. It became abundantly clear that whoever this new guy was, he wasn’t who Bucky knew from back home. It’s like they took whatever was good and wonderful about Steve, dialed it up to unprecedented levels, and stuck it in the body of a human-shaped golden retriever who was hardwired to thrive on chaos. 

The Steve that Bucky knew had a composition that was borne from the adversity of a body wracked with illness from the day he was brought into the world. He was tough as shit, he knew that he was going to die, that it was going to be soon and it was going to be ugly, so he did everything he could to make sure the world wouldn’t forget him. The new Steve was bigger than life and had no thoughts in his head of dying anytime soon. 

What does Steve run on now? Regret? Fumes? Bucky doubts even Steve knows.

“What are you watching?”

Bucky tilts his head to the side to stretch his neck and studies the tv until the shapes and words sound familiar. “‘What’s Your Baggage?’” 

“Excuse me?”

“That’s what the show is called. ‘What’s Your Baggage?’ Can you guess mine?”

Steve snorts. He’s got exhaustion etched into the bags under his eyes, and flecks of blood on his bare torso. Bucky doesn’t miss missions, not when they take that much out of you, and he’s close enough to telling Steve he should quit the whole game already, just stay home, loser. Stay with Bucky. “Where do I start.”

“You have the littlest baggage, the medium baggage, and the large baggage. Guess what my large baggage is.”

“You were imprisoned by Hydra for seventy years and forced to kill people.”

“Okay, too easy.” Bucky’s getting better at laughing about these kinds of things, but Steve still looks uncomfortable bringing it up. “What about my medium baggage?”

Steve sighs like he doesn’t really want to have this conversation, but he presses on anyway. “You think that I think you’re not pulling your weight, even though I’ve told you that you don’t need to do anything around here. I don’t care about loading the dishwasher or doing laundry. It’s easier for us to do it together, and you end up wearing half my wardrobe most of the time anyway.” Bucky looks down at the SHIELD-issued t-shirt he’s wearing. It’s comfortable, soft, worn from Steve owning it for the last ten years. It’s as dark a blue as the colour of Steve’s eyes, and it looks better on him than it does Bucky. 

“I know you don’t,” Bucky says, trying to keep any inflection out of his voice. “But that’s not true. My medium baggage is you leaving your dirty socks in the living room even though you said you’re going to do the laundry.” He picks one of them up and flings it at Steve, who catches it before it hits him in the head. “Plus you’re flaking blood on the couch.” 

Steve looks down, then twists to look at his ribcage where there is a large patch of dried blood that he doesn’t seem to feel. Bucky knows that after throwing your body around in the heat of a mission the little things matter less, but it also means that Steve’s still not fully here when he’s here, and he was hoping Steve would work on that with Bucky’s gentle prompting to look after himself: wash his hair with actual shampoo instead of hand soap, remember to eat the vegetables Bucky buys instead of half-cooking a steak in Bucky’s new wok and eating it standing over the kitchen sink while the meat juices dribble down his elbows. He’s only been sort-of successful, but they have a long way to go.

“Right,” Steve says, standing up with effort to stretch his arms above his head. He’s as broad as he ever was, always the same build and shape, wearied not by age but battle. Maybe he will be one day though; maybe in two hundred years, his time will catch up to him. Maybe by then, he’ll have figured out a purpose that isn’t constant war. He ambles off to the bathroom and Bucky finishes his one-armed yoga routine. 

It’s almost an hour later, around midday, when Steve gets out of the shower, smelling like Bucky’s botanical body wash and yawning with his eyes scrunched up, as Bucky cooks breakfast for them both. It might be breakfast: it’s got toast, and neither of them has really got that much of a handle on time anymore.

“Hey, you found a shirt.” 

Steve grunts and nudges Bucky’s shoulder with his own, too playful to be by accident, as he heads for the fridge. The oil spits as Bucky crumbles more tofu into the pan, tossing in fresh chives he cut from the planter on the window sill, the smell of everything mixing together as he adds in some herbs he bought while Steve was asleep. It’s reminiscent of the time they lived together before the war, except they could hardly afford to eat and pay for their electricity bill when Steve was too sick to work, at least without Bucky getting five-fingered discounts from Brooklyn grocers to supplement his own income. It was a recession; they did what they had to do.

The stove is hot at his front and Steve is like a hot water bottle himself as he stands next to Bucky to stare at the food. Bucky is so used to focusing on his presence he doesn’t even notice anymore how his body acclimatizes to Steve, turning towards him, loosening up, letting out a breath. He’s so comfortable with Steve, even after everything, that he can’t imagine his life without him in it. 

“You didn’t have to cook,” Steve says, coming around to himself now.

“I’m not letting you do it, not after three fires that somehow still didn’t cook the food.”

Steve rolls his eyes so hard his entire body goes with it. “I survived for years before we moved in together.” He opens the fridge and looks around, touching everything in his way. “Did we run out of milk?”

“_You_ ran out of milk. I didn’t run out of milk.”

“I’m not drinking your milk, it’s gross.”

“Good, don’t drink my milk. I bought it for me, Steve, that’s why it’s my milk.”

Steve grumbles and gives up. It’s an easy life they’ve built for themselves, slotting into each other’s atmosphere as easily as they ever did. Steve helps him plate breakfast and pours him coffee while they eat in comfortable silence punctuated by occasional bouts of two-line conversation, the most Steve can manage before coffee. 

By the time Bucky’s finished eating, he can tell Steve wants to say something, has been gearing up for it the entire time, and Bucky just lets him percolate on it until he can get the words out. “I’ve been thinking about buying a house,” is what Steve comes out with. Bucky leans forward with his chin on his hand. “I’ve looked at some places, nothing too flashy, but, um. I would sell this apartment since I don’t really need it if I have a house.”

Bucky feels his stomach drop. It’s not what he was expecting. Maybe something along the lines of, “my trainer keeps asking me out and it’s making me uncomfortable and I don’t know how to tell her to stop so maybe I’ll just find a new gym”, not “hey, I don’t want to live together anymore, see ya, buddy”. “Oh, right.”

“Would you, um—”

Bucky clears his throat. “Of course. Yeah, no problem.”

“No problem?” 

Bucky looks down at his empty plate with the remnants of turmeric scattered around it. He can’t bear to look at Steve’s face right now, even though he knew this was coming. Didn’t he? It wasn’t like they were going to live together forever, and it’s been over a year. He just thought that maybe—it was stupid, but Steve had been looking for him for two whole years, had kept in contact for another two after that while Bucky was in Wakanda, video calling him when he could while they fought off underground threats to humanity in the shadows. If he is honest with himself, he expected that Steve would want to be together for a few more years, but maybe Steve’s used to being by himself now, maybe he really doesn’t want to be washing Bucky’s underwear and lending out his books only for them to come back dog-eared and covered in coffee rings. 

“Yeah, I’ll find some place. I can always hang in the Avengers compound. Keep Rhodey company, make sure Lucky’s getting walked.” Bucky gets up to put his plate in the sink before he remembers and puts it in the dishwasher. “I can be out of your hair soon.”

“The compound? No, with me, do you want—”

Steve’s phone starts ringing and Bucky snatches it off the table to answer it, anything to get him out of the worst conversation he’s had since he died and came back to life, again. “Joey’s Crematorium, you kill ‘em, we grill ‘em, Bucky speaking.”

“Barnes, it’s Rhodes,” comes Colonel James Rhodes’ voice, continuing before Bucky has a chance to exchange pleasantries that they both hate and don’t have time for, “Can you and Rogers come to the compound today? We’ve got a, uh, situation that we need you for.”

“Both of us, sir?”

“Yeah, unfortunately.”

“Of course, sir.” 

Rhodey hangs up and Bucky tosses the phone to Steve. “Come on, boss needs us.” He heads towards his bedroom to change into his going out pants and reattach his arm, because as much as he hates wearing it he’s been caught in situations where he’s needed it and didn’t have it, and if the scouts taught him anything it’s that he needs to be prepared, and if the army taught him anything it’s that all that preparedness usually goes to shit when the other guy’s got a bigger gun than you. At least it’s lighter than his Hydra arm, which was so heavy it tore at his shoulder, and while he still has the scars from it, the flesh puckered and etched so deep it’ll never heal fully, it’s just a bad memory. 

“Bucky—” Steve starts, but Bucky just claps him on the shoulder. 

“It’s seriously okay. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“If that’s what you want,” Steve says. 

“Come on, let’s head to the compound.” Bucky smiles his most devastatingly charming smile as he slips into his room where he can, for the next thirty seconds while he changes clothes, have a small breakdown about it.

~

“So,” Rhodey says, with the air of a man whose patience is wearing thin. The boards he’s standing in front of have pictures of creatures that look like people, but also off somehow, as if they stood in a cave too long, their cheeks sunken and their complexions waxy. “Just to start you off: vampires are real. Yes, they only come out at night, and no, they don’t attack humans very often. There’s also not that many in New York, so it’s unlikely you would’ve encountered one in the last couple decades. Here, at least. All good so far?”

“Vampires… are real.” Although he sounds shocked, Steve doesn’t look it. He looks like he wants someone to beat him over the head until things make sense again.

“Hey, it’s chill,” Bucky says, sipping on the cranberry juice box he brought from home. “You’re made from magical handwavey science stuff. I’ve got a metal arm. An alien regularly swings by to get me shitfaced on space juice. It’s whatever.”

“What’s with the cranberry juice?” Sam nods towards Bucky’s hand with a sardonic look on his face that is somehow both undone and emphasized by his Captain America suit. “You have a UTI or something?” Sam likes to rib him because he thinks he’s cute, although Bucky has informed him on many occasions he is not. 

“Looking hot in your costume, sweetheart,” Bucky says, giving a low whistle. Sam blushes and shakes his head, because no one is immune to James Barnes’ charm.

“Speaking of Thor,” Nat says, hunkered down in her chair, her hoodie pulled tight and her feet in ugg boots. She’s taken a backstage role to the Avengers lately, preferring to guide from the wings, and Bucky doesn’t blame her: from what he heard, for those five years he and Sam were gone she’d taken over Fury’s position as the head honcho for what was left of the Avengers. If anyone needs a sabbatical, it’s her. Unfortunately, being of the same ilk as Steve “What’s a vacation?” Rogers, she has never met an unproductive stretch of time she liked. “Where’s everyone else on this? Why did you call us in?”

“Because you were the only four I could scrounge up at the last minute.”

Rhodey flips through information packets on the screens, showing pictures of what looks like a convention populated by the waxy figures, one that dwindled from years 2018 to 2022 but picked back up again last year. True to Rhodey’s word, the conventions are at night. 

“And you’re the only ones who make convincing couples.”

A silence drops between them for a beat before Sam picks it up. “What now? None of us are a couple.”

Rhodey rolls his eyes. “You and Nat could pass as a couple. I’m not sure what’s going on between you two,” Rhodey motions between Bucky and Steve, and Bucky glances over to find Steve growing into mostly bushy eyebrows and frown lines, “but you could definitely make a couple. I can smell that shared cologne from here.”

“Sir, what’s the imperative that we pose as couples?” Steve, ever ready to charge in head first, seems hesitant, and Bucky doesn’t want to guess why. He very much does not want to guess how awkward it’s going to be between them posing as a couple when Steve doesn’t want to live in Bucky’s pocket anymore, but Bucky has actually imagined dating Steve and found it, actually, surprisingly palatable. Who wouldn’t want to date Steve? He’s good looking, and Bucky’s fantasized enough about tall, angry, blonde men to know he has a type, and also, oddly enough, fantasized about short, angry, blonde men, so what does that say about Steve? Steve’s a lovely guy. Anyone would want to date him, Bucky included.

“Because vampires mate for life, and they treat this symposium like a dip in the dating pool.” The screens bring up pictures of speed dating set-ups from past conferences and booths dedicated to weddings, anniversaries, and engagements. “They take this stuff seriously. Unless, of course, you want a bunch of love-hungry vampires lusting after you for three days, then be my guest and go along unattached.”

Rhodey flips through a few more photos as Steve turns to Bucky and mouths “love-hungry vampires”, which Bucky snickers at, and Nat shrugs like she wouldn’t mind it. 

“The reason I called you on this mission is because the vampires don’t like us, don’t trust us, and are very likely to turn on us. Have you heard of a man named Cyrus Cutter?”

Bucky and Steve shake their heads, but Sam and Nat both nod.

“He’s been shaking things up downtown and pissing the vampires off. He’s taken a disliking to the ones who get their rocks off by feeding on humans.”

“He calls it vengeance,” Nat chimes in.

“Exactly. Except now the vampires are deciding to turn against all humans, make us all pay for one guy’s actions. Some of them, at least. Enough, anyway.” Rhodey takes a seat with a sigh. The years have not been kind to him either. Between the last five years and the death of his best friend—Bucky can’t imagine what he’s going through. “The mission is to basically make nice, shake some hands, make some connections, get them to trust us. With enough on our side, maybe it won’t turn out into a full-blown war.”

The sentiment rests heavy in the lingering silence between them all. 

“Of course, sir,” Steve says, and that’s that. Even now they all follow his lead, and if Steve’s willing to suspend his disbelief as much to include vampires then the rest of them are as well. Rhodey sends them their packets and Steve and Bucky head back to their apartment, leaving Nat and Sam behind in the nest they’ve made for themselves and however many Avengers they can scrounge up at the time.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky would be lying if he said the atmosphere between him and Steve hadn’t been awkward on the drive to the compound and that it isn’t awkward on the drive back, but he tries to keep his happy face on and relents to whatever podcast Steve is listening to at the moment.

“We should start a podcast,” Bucky says, mostly to himself. “We’ll call it The Thrilling Avenger Hour.” 

“Yeah?” Steve glances at him, smiling, and damn it, damn Steve for being so charming and likeable. Damn him that a smile is all it takes. Bucky can’t stay mad at him any more than Steve can stay mad at Bucky. “What would it be about?”

Bucky doesn’t mention the blip. Steve has been very carefully not mentioning the blip for a year now. “Your Avengering, of course. The ins-and-outs of battle, your equipment, the things you got up to when no one was looking.” Bucky takes in the way Steve pretends to be intrigued at the idea as if it could possibly be a good one, and tries to hide his amusement. “You disappeared for two years, twice. People didn’t get so much as an Instagram pic from you. They’re going to want to know what you got up to.”

Steve shrugs. “I mean, it was mostly taking down international threats and wiping Hydra off the map. Again. It wasn’t that complicated.” 

Bucky snorts. “Pal, we are the definition of complicated. I know you like to pretend you’re Joe Everyman but you’re not. Sorry to break it to you.” The countryside morphs into city streets and they arrive back soon enough, Bucky feeling lighter than when they left the apartment that afternoon, trying desperately to not think about effectively breaking up with Steve before they were paired together by Rhodey, at least until he can find a secluded place to cry in: his bedroom maybe, or the shower. 

The noise Steve lets out as he parks the car is a weary one, and makes him sound like an old man. He leads the way into the apartment building, passing the concierge desk like they do every day they go out, so often that Bucky has gotten used to the idea of living in a building with a concierge desk. It’s bougie as hell, and everything he imagined living in Manhattan would be like. They say hi to Frank and head up, and Bucky doesn’t see the look on Steve’s face until they enter the apartment and he sits heavily on one of the bar stools that surround the kitchen island. 

“Did you guess that vampires are real?”

“Nope.” Bucky means to head straight to the shower but something about Steve’s silence stops him from moving. “You okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just—” Steve is quiet, and a quiet Steve is a thinking Steve. “Should we really do this? Vampires and everything. Seems like a little out of our paygrade.”

Bucky pauses before he talks, because he feels like laughing and Steve looks like he might retreat into himself for the rest of the week if someone laughed in his face. “Rhodey asked us to. You want Nat and Sam to handle it alone?”

“No, you’re right. We should do it.”

“But?”

“Nothing.”

Bucky goes for Steve’s wrist as he gets up from his bar stool, ends up grabbing the meat of his hand as Steve reaches out for him as well. “But what, Steve?”

“I’ve been thinking of getting out, you know? For good. This kinda shit—vampires and Hydra and terrorist organisations every other week, it’s exhausting.”

Bucky doesn’t feel like laughing anymore. He thought this was what he wanted, but he didn’t think of the cost it would take on Steve. Suddenly Steve looks his age, his body sagging with the weight of his choices, his gaze pointed towards the windows and far away. “Yeah, pal. I know it is. That’s why I’m not doing it anymore.”

“But you still want to do this?”

“It’s only shaking hands and making contacts. It’s diplomacy. We don’t have to arrest anyone, unless the vampires turn on us. I can handle that.”

Steve nods, still looking at something Bucky can’t see. 

“Besides, Rhodey called us in for a reason. A stupid reason, but it’s true. We can pass as a couple and fool some vampires, as long as they don’t read minds.”

“Could be dangerous. It’s not something we’ve faced before. We’re at a disadvantage.” Steve sounds like he’s made up his mind, like Bucky’s convinced him. 

“Could be, which is why I don’t want Nat and Sam out there alone. And neither do you.”

Steve nods, looking down at the hand Bucky has on him, twisting his own until it’s in Bucky’s grip. Bucky feels self conscious and tries not to pull away. “You’re right. I’d rather they didn’t go at all when we could just do it—” 

“—But out of the four of us they’re better at schmoozing than a couple centenarians.”

Steve looks up at Bucky, not so far away now, smiling a little. “I think we make a pretty good team ourselves.”

Great, Bucky thinks, now they’re just holding hands in their kitchen and smiling at each other. They’re such losers. No wonder people think they’re a couple. 

He clears his throat and pulls his hand away. “I’m gonna shower,” he announces, feeling Steve’s eyes on him as he walks away.

~

Awkwardness effectively dispersed, Bucky starts packing that night for the both of them while Steve reads out the information in the files Rhodey emailed them.

“‘The Greater North-Eastern Annual Vampire Symposium, held in Connecticut, started in 1956 as a way to bring vampires out of their coffins and inspire community amongst North-American vampires. Today, the symposium is proud to host vampires from all over the world, averaging 90,000 attendees, 300 stalls, and 150 special guests.’”

Bucky manages to listen to what he’s saying while also digging through the mess of Steve’s wardrobe to find suitable clothes. “I know you have pants that aren’t beige slacks. Where are the skinny jeans I bought you?”

“Uh,” Steve says, and Bucky can hear the tinge of embarrassment in his voice. “They’re in there. Somewhere. I’m pretty sure.”

When Bucky turns around, Steve’s ears are red and he’s looking at his tablet a little too intensely. “You threw them out.”

“No, I didn’t! I may have… accidentally left them with Sam and never found them again. Maybe.”

Bucky folds his arms over his chest. “Why do I bother? I work all day making amazing fashion choices for you and buying you the nice denim, tough but wearable, something you won’t rip as soon as you get your foot stuck in the ankle hole, and what do I get? Nothing but backchat and insolence.”

Steve’s laughing now and Bucky goes back to his careful choice of what Steve should wear, because lord knows Steve wouldn’t make the right choices himself. It’d be three days of t-shirts tight enough that his nipples poke through, and tracksuit pants that show off his ass too well, and Bucky is not going to pretend to be married to Steve just to fend off horny vampires all weekend. He has some dignity when it comes to being pimped out.

“‘This year the symposium is organised by the esteemed Queen of Pennsylvania, Rena Ostberg, and her events company, FNF Events.’ Rhodey sent us some information on them as well.”

“I’ll read it in the car.” Bucky pulls out a pair of purple chinos. “Steve, you didn’t tell me you had taste.”

“Sam took me out and helped me shop. Said he couldn’t stand to see me looking like a middle-aged dad. I didn’t even know I still had those.”

Bucky digs through a bit more and finds enough to make outfits for the three days they’ll be at the symposium. He thinks better against the linen pants on the basis that even he couldn’t help but stare at Steve’s ass if he wore them and goes for the couple pairs of cargo pants and chinos, paired with a bomber jacket, a hoodie, some flannel and some loose henleys. He throws in some clothes for Steve to sleep in and he’s done.

“I think you’re enjoying this too much,” Steve says, pretending to be affronted at Bucky’s choices as he lays them out on Steve’s bed.

“You will wear these and you will like it.”

“Yes, sir.” 

Bucky’s stomach does a funny flip at the way Steve grins, so openly affectionate that Bucky doesn’t know what to do with himself. He should be used to this by now, how honest Steve is with him, but somewhere along the way, after the war and after Hydra but sometime during Wakanda when his brain wires rerouted themselves, he forgot how to be around Steve and had to learn it all over again, and this is one of the things that started happening: his stomach tightening and his hand sweating sometimes when Steve looks at him like that, and wanting desperately for him to do that always. 

They don’t fight like they used to when they were growing up, when Steve was too stubborn to stay in bed when he was sick unless the hand of God or Bucky Barnes held him down, sometimes during the Depression fighting over little things like groceries and bigger things like Bucky borrowing money from his parents, but not anymore. They don’t want for money or medicine, and Bucky is very careful to keep things good between them, addressing things calmly in his grown-up voice. Steve doesn’t seem to want anything from him, if he ever did, or need him to keep a roof over their heads; they’re both happy in the life they’ve built together.

At least, Bucky thought they were. When he remembers the conversation they had after breakfast, he doesn’t know what to think. 

“You’re all packed,” he says without looking at him, a little too curtly, and Steve says, “Thanks,” in a soft voice. 

“What time do we have to head out tomorrow?”

Steve flips through the pages on his tablet. “Check in for our hotel is at 6pm.”

“And it’s a two hour drive.”

“Yep. So pack a lot of juice boxes.”

Bucky looks at Steve as he sits on his bed surrounded by clothes and smiling fondly, Bucky covering his own fondness that’s threatening to burst out of his chest with a steel-edged look. “You can bank on it, mister.”

~

It’s an hour and a half into the drive to New Haven and Bucky’s had so much to deal with. First it was Nat kicking his seat every three minutes “trying to get comfortable in this tiny bitch of a car” despite the fact that she is five-feet tall, and then it was Steve and Sam arguing over what episode of _Pod Save America_ to listen to, Steve winning because Sam has to lean from the backseat to change it on Steve’s phone, and then it was spilling his Peanut Butter Patties into the footwell when Steve slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting a deer. Now it’s something else.

“I mean, what if we meet someone there who we like, who just happens to be a vampire? Will that jeopardise the mission?”

Bucky doesn’t want to think about him or Steve meeting someone there. Or really anywhere. He hasn’t examined in great detail the reason why he is this way and he’s probably not going to unless it’s under duress.

Sam hums thoughtfully. “I’m sure that would actually be beneficial—for Rhodey at least. Some interspecies human-vampire love would probably go over well for him in trying to ‘strengthen bonds’.”

Nat snorts. “Surprised he didn’t expect one of us to hook up straight off the bat.”

“Or send us off wrapped in a bow with an IV bag of blood.”

Bucky sinks lower in his seat, chewing on one of the cookies he saved. Steve himself is conspicuously silent. 

Sam continues, “Might be a bit awkward with the hotel room situation. Sorry to burst your bubble, Nat, in case you wanted to bring a feisty young vamp back there.”

“Don’t call them vamps,” Steve says. “They don’t like that.”

“That’s fair. There’s plenty of stuff you do that I don’t like.” Bucky turns his head to look at Sam and watches him drop fast food wrappers onto Steve’s lap. “Like leave your leftover McDonald’s right where my feet are supposed to be.”

Steve glances at Bucky, looking stricken, as though he’s been caught out. “That’s from before I said I was giving it up.” He takes his hand off the wheel to ball the wrappers up and throw them back at Sam.

Bucky raises his eyebrows but says nothing. 

Sam chimes in again, now that Steve’s secret is revealed. “That’s a lie and you know it, Steve.” He turns to Bucky and continues, “We get McDonald’s at least once a week, he just doesn’t tell you.”

“It’s not—_every_ week, I mean—come on, Sam, shut up.” 

Bucky continues to say nothing, just watches Steve stumble through explaining something that Bucky really does not care about and waits until Steve’s stopped blustering to ask, “What’s the hotel room situation?”

Nat pipes up. “It’s in the packet. You and Steve have a room to yourself, but you’ll be sharing a bed. So it’s a bit awkward if you do want to bring someone back. Maybe just hold off on that for a weekend. Since neither of you date or have even slept with anyone in this century, I have a lot of faith in you.”

Steve is still red in the face when he asks, “Why are we sharing a bed?”

“So that you’ll smell like each other and be more comfortable with each other. It’s not enough to just wear each other’s clothes. Vampires have heightened senses so they can pretty much tell if we’re lying about being in relationships. Sam and I will be the same. Can you tell we’re wearing each other’s scents? We’re pretty comfortable with each other already.” 

“Please don’t tell me you’re wearing each other’s underwear right now,” Steve says, sounding horrified. 

“Also: there should be a lot of touching. Like, a lot of touching.” Nat emphasises the point by kicking Bucky’s seat again. “Let me know now if you’re not gucci with that.”

“We’re fine,” Bucky says. “It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before.”

“Oh, really?” In response to Sam’s high-pitched tone, Steve launches into a long story that doesn’t answer Sam’s question and that none of them really care about, and it devolves into bickering from there. Bucky continues to eat his cookies and watch the scenery out of his window, in equal parts looking forward to a convention of the immortal undead, and dreading it.

~

It’s still day time when they arrive at the hotel, and when they take the car underground they go through two sets of light-tight gates to get to the parking garage.

“Can’t be too careful, I guess,” Sam says. The atmosphere has turned somewhat spooky now they’re here, and despite how they’ve faced down much more insidious threats it’s starting to set in that they will be completely defenceless in a room full of creatures whose lives depend on their blood. They aren’t allowed to bring any weapons of any kind, as this is purely a diplomacy mission, but there’s no way Nat would go into any situation without at least her widow bites and Bucky still has his arm. If it were any other situation, Bucky would rest assured in their ability to handle the situation; as it stands, if anything goes wrong, he’s not sure they’ll be able to scrape through.

As soon as they step out of the elevator, they get a pretty good view of the blacked-out windows of the hotel’s ground floor, and the inside is sepia-toned from the soft, warm lights dotted around the spacious room. There are a few groups of humans there who all seem at ease, which makes Bucky feel a little safer, until they make their way over to the front desk. The man behind it, whose badge reads “Rod”, is wearing a vest and long-sleeved dress shirt that doesn’t have a high enough collar to mask the twin red bite marks on his neck. Bucky glances away as soon as he notices, and Steve is doing the same while Sam gets their keys. It’s going to be like that the whole weekend, Bucky thinks, tamping down on his discomfort. 

“Alrighty, boys,” Sam says, handing Steve and Bucky’s keys to them as they make their way back to the elevator. “Play nice, make merry, get settled in, do whatever. Nat and I are going to the bar.”

Bucky doesn’t bother wondering when that decision happened, just herds Steve into the nearest elevator going up with a hand on his back. 

“Are you going to be alright this weekend?” Steve sounds worried. Steve is always worried about Bucky. It’s a trademarked Steve thing. But as much as he likes it, Bucky has been stable for years now and he doesn’t need Steve to worry about him. At least, not until the fangs drop and blood starts spilling.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, throwing Steve a soft smile to appease him, “of course.” Steve leans against one wall of the elevator while Bucky leans against the other, and there’s so much in the space between them that it would knock Bucky down if he really thinks about it.

Steve clears his throat. “If you get uncomfortable with the touching—maybe we can make up a safeword.”

A laugh bubbles out of Bucky’s mouth at that. “Sure. How about ‘Poughkeepsie’?”

“Well, that was quick. Maybe something a bit more conversational.”

Bucky pulls his bag higher on his shoulder as the elevator stops. “I don’t need a safe word, Steve. Hold my hand, kiss me, grab my ass—whatever you want to do to sell it. I don’t care.” He steps out of the elevator and leads the way to their room, Steve tagging along behind.

“I care. I don’t want to do anything that you don’t consent to.” He steps up as Bucky swipes the keycard over the proximity reader and lets them into the room.

Bucky tosses his bag on the bed and shrugs out of his jacket. The room is nice, he supposes; it’s not their apartment, and it’s not Wakanda, but it’ll do for the next three days. It has a double bed, a kitchenette, a wardrobe, and a bathroom with a spa bath. “How about I blanket consent to it all, then you don’t need to worry.”

“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is,” Steve says. Bucky wants to push back against him, because he truly believes there’s nothing Steve can do that would hurt him, or even make him uncomfortable, but Steve stands in front of him as he comes back out of the bathroom, blocking the doorway. Steve is big, bigger than Bucky now that Bucky isn’t forced to work out to keep up his mass; he’s gone soft in his old age, lost muscle and gained a bit of fat. Steve is, as ever, a Mack truck. 

“What do you want me to say?” Bucky keeps his tone level.

Steve seems to realise too late that this is the closest they’ve come to a fight in months, and backs away, letting Bucky walk through the rest of the space. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“I’m comfortable with anything.”

“You know that’s not true.”

Bucky pauses his inspection to sigh. “Let’s just—I don’t know. How much do we have to sell it here? We’re already going to sleep in the same bed, we use the same body wash, you keep stealing my cologne—I’m not going to have an episode just because you hold my hand. Okay? You can kiss me. On the mouth, but I don’t really think anyone is going to be expecting that. So—cheek kiss then, right?” Steve nods. “You can put your arm around me, touch my waist, hold my hand. I said that already.”

Steve frowns like he’s mentally taking notes, and it makes Bucky laugh. 

“Should we practice, then?”

“What, holding hands?” Bucky asks. 

“I meant—” Steve starts. 

“I know what you meant.”

Steve’s gaze narrows to Bucky’s mouth and Bucky can feel the heat in the room intensify until he’s nearly sweating. Steve moves over to him, and Bucky stays very still as Steve puts a hand on his shoulder, bringing their faces closer together to plant a wiry kiss on his cheek. Bucky feels his stubble catch against Steve’s beard and looks up at him. 

Something happens between them then, a wordless enchantment, a spell, that Bucky will pinpoint later as the catalyst for falling in love with Steve, as if it could be one moment and not a lifetime of them. Inches away, Steve looks at him, at his eyes and then his mouth, and moves his hand up until it’s around the back of Bucky’s neck, at the bottom of his bun. Bucky doesn’t move until Steve kisses him, and even then it’s barely a movement. He feels the catch of Steve’s lips on his own and he tilts his head up by a fraction, giving barely anything before Steve pulls back, stepping away and taking his heat with him. 

“I hope that was okay,” Steve says, looking devastated, as though he’s the one who lost in this situation. “I’m going to go get signed in for the conference.”

He glances away, rushing out as Bucky struggles to breathe. Left behind, Bucky touches his lips, the place where Steve’s lips touched, and feels them burning still.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So instead of posting a chapter every week like I was planning to, I decided to just get this out of the way and out of my life and post a chapter a day yolo enjoy

It’s really more of a convention or an expo than a symposium, but Bucky doesn’t feel like being the one to point that out. True to word, there are at least a hundred stalls on the second floor of the hotel, and more than 20,000 people and vampires. Looking around at them all while trying not to gawk, he wonders how he’s never noticed a vampire before. He was in Romania for almost half a year; surely there would be vampires there, too. Some of them have their fangs out, but most of them don’t, and some are better at passing as human than others, although Bucky doesn’t want to insult them by saying that. He stops at the door, unsure of where to start.

“We can mask ourselves,” someone says, a deep voice to Bucky’s right. He turns to see someone his height with short cropped hair and kind eyes who looks in their mid-40s. “If that’s what you’re wondering.”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, actually. Can you read minds, too?”

“Unfortunately, no. Otherwise I’d know if you were here with someone and if I had shot without having to ask.”

Bucky laughs and shakes his head. “Taken. I’m Bucky, by the way.”

“Eric. Have you been to one of these before?”

“No, actually.”

“Then allow me to show you around.”

Eric motions to the left and Bucky steps up next to him as they walk through the aisles, stopping at each stall. The first aisle is dedicated to literature and magazines, and the first stall—

“Well, that’s confronting,” Bucky says, picking up a handmade book that has a hand-drawn, comically-sized, veined penis on the front cover, attached to a hungry-looking vampire.

Eric laughs. “Not your style?”

“Can’t knock it if I’ve never tried it, can I?”

Eric looks at him curiously as Bucky flips through the book, but Bucky doesn’t elaborate on what exactly it is that he hasn’t tried. Nat was joking when she said neither he or Steve has dated in this century, because Bucky’s brought women home and Steve has too, but as far as having sex with men goes—Bucky can’t remember everything, but he knows there’s a definite possibility he has. If he focuses, images of him mashing his face into a pillow and the feeling of being full come to mind, but it’s mired in so much embarrassment that it’s hard to get the full picture. It would have happened before the war, or during. Bucky can’t remember having sex before Wakanda, and he hopes he never does. 

The next stall they stop at showcases a magazine called _Feed_, with captions like “unleash your inner beast” and “how to make him look like a snack” next to an attractive looking woman with tiny fangs. 

Bucky points to the front cover. “Is this what vampires are into?”

Eric levels a cool gaze at him. “You’d be surprised what vampires are into.”

He feels Eric’s hand on his shoulder blade and Bucky wonders if it’s considered flirting or if maybe, judging by the looks people are sending them, it’s to protect him.

“There you are, Bucky.” 

Bucky perks up at the sound of Steve’s voice and looks up as Steve plants another kiss on his cheek. “Oh, Steve, hi. This is Eric.”

Steve glances at Eric’s arm and says, “I’m Steve, Bucky’s lover. Partner. We’re partners. Lovers, too,” and Bucky tries not to hang his head. 

“Yes, that we are.”

Eric laughs in a show of good nature and takes his hand off Bucky’s back to shake Steve’s. “I can tell. I was just showing Bucky around.”

“Great, I’ll join you.”

He leans into Bucky as they continue walking, wrapping an arm through his. “Everyone is looking at you.”

“I know,” Bucky says, trying to keep his voice low. “But I smell like you, so what’s the problem?”

“I think they want to do more than look.”

Bucky stares at him. “I’m not really arrogant enough to think that, out of everyone at an entire vampire convention, I’m the one they want to fuck.”

“Maybe not fuck,” Steve says, and Bucky rolls his eyes. 

“Get a grip. There’s a stall over there that sells blood martinis in all sorts of flavors.”

“You might as well be the last human on earth.”

“Aw, Steve,” Bucky says, with an air of condescension, “Don’t be too hard on yourself. I’m sure they’ll make an exception for you.”

Steve shuts up after that, but soon enough, when they catch up with Sam and Nat at the buffet table, Nat shares the same sentiment. “Everyone here is staring at you, holy fuck, James.”

Bucky waves to a vampire couple dressed in their Victorian best, which looks too authentic to be cosplay, and shrugs. “I’m sure if you dressed a little nicer they’d be looking at you, too.”

Nat punches him in the arm but not hard enough to make it sting. He would feel it if she tried. The truth is it’s a little unnerving being stared at by several hundred sets of eyes at once as they move from the buffet table to the lounge area, plates loaded up with food. He hasn’t felt like this much of an outsider since basic training, when they shaved his hair off and everyone in the camp started calling him “dollface”. He’s not a stranger to being propositioned.

“If anyone starts any trouble,” Steve warns, and Bucky groans.

“No one’s going to start any trouble, Steve, so quit it.”

“That guy had his hands on you.” Steve sounds like he’s restraining himself from saying something, but he’s shocked out of it when a fry Bucky throws hits his eyebrow.

“No one is going to despoil Bucky’s nubile young body,” Sam says, and Nat and Steve choke on their food while Bucky laughs. 

“How long have you been thinking about that image?” Bucky asks, and Sam shakes his head.

“Wish I hadn’t started,” Sam says, grinning. “Seriously, everyone needs to relax. We’re here to have a good time. Did you see those silver detectors?”

The conversation carries over as they eat, but then so do groups of vampires who seem to be attracted to their little foursome, gravitating closer and throwing looks their way. Now would be a really good time to make friends, Bucky thinks. Even Sam looks a little antsy, and out of the four of them he’s taken to the vampires the most.

“You can really taste the lack of garlic,” Nat complains, twisting pasta around on her plastic fork. She’s spilled sauce down her shirt and doesn’t seem to have noticed, or maybe she doesn’t care. It’s hard to tell where she’s at right now, and if she’s too far gone to stop them from worrying about her. 

“Excuse me,” a voice says in a Romanian accent, and Bucky glances up to find one of the most striking women he’s ever seen looking at him with an intense kind of curiosity. Her plump cheeks are red with rouge and her lips are painted a girlish pink. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I feel like I know you from somewhere.”

Bucky smiles his most affable smile while Sam makes a noise to his left that is most likely an affronted sigh, Nat snorts through a mouthful of pasta, and Steve stabs his veggie loaf with his knife. 

“We may have met,” Bucky says, because it’s entirely possible; the man has been around.

“Who are you related to?” She has a delicate voice that could belong to a singer, or a siren. It’s delightful to listen to her speak, at the same time the feeling of dread that’s been prickling at his periphery starts to make itself known.

“Ah, no one that I know of.”

“I know who he looks like,” says a man next to her, portly and amiable. He’s got an Australian accent and a stein full of blood in his hand that makes Bucky queasy to look at. “Whatshisface. That stupid fucker Chee-oh-barn-oo.”

“Well, that’s not the way I would have phrased it,” the woman says. She holds out her hand for Bucky to shake. “Isabella Calinescu. This is my companion, John Carr.”

Bucky stands up and takes her hand, clasping it in both of his. “Pleasure. Bucky Barnes.” He points to his friends and introduces them. 

“Captain America,” Isabella says, bringing her hands to her chest in delight as Steve smiles up at her. “Of course. Not many people in this room would know or care who you are, but John and I are very big fans.”

Steve stands up to shake their hands, slipping so easily into the celebrity role of his youth that it’s like Bucky’s back in 1944. “Of course, ma’am. It kind of follows me wherever I go.”

“That was some beaut shit you did in DC, mate.” John shakes Steve’s hand vigorously. “Then you went and fuckin’ disappeared on us. I kept asking Iz, ‘When’s this Captain America prick gunna show up again?’ We were taking bets down at the pub.” He leans in and winks conspiratorially. “I won though. Knew youse were gunna show up eventually.” His gaze falls to Sam and Nat, and he lets out another exclamation. “Holy shit, it’s the new Captain America. Knew you weren’t gunna be far. Iz, it’s the Falcon!”

Sam stands and leans over to shake his hand. “How you doin’, man?”

John shakes Sam’s hand just as vigorously. “Bloody hell. Can’t believe my luck. I’m a big fan. We survived the blip, and I tell ya, it was a bloody depressing five years.” Sam glances at Steve, and Steve looks uncomfortable.

Isabella’s gaze is still on Bucky. “You do look like him. I wonder if there is a family resemblance.”

Bucky rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not sure who you’re talking about.”

“King Mihail Ciobanu II.” Her face assumes a look of reverence as she says the name. “Born in 1901, staked in 1995. I had the great pleasure of serving at his side for many decades. You could be his descendant.”

Bucky lets her down with an easy smile. “Actually, my dad was American and born in 1894. I’m from the same era as the Captain.”

Isabella laughs at him, but it doesn’t sound bad coming from her. “No, you misunderstand me. Made vampire in 1901. Did you know you grandfather?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I didn’t know either side.”

“So it could be then.” She continues to skewer him with her piercing gaze. “Would you join me for a drink, Bucky?”

Bucky looks around at the others, Nat with her face in her phone, Sam and Steve still in conversation with John. “Of course. Lead the way.”

~

It’s almost three in the morning by the time Bucky catches up with Steve again, after a night of conversation with Isabella, hearing about possibly his vampire grandfather, and being introduced to various figures in the vampire celebrity world who are attending the symposium. Almost every single one of them asked if he was taken, if not for themselves then for someone they knew. He didn’t think anything aside from Hydra could make him feel like this much of a piece of meat, but he was wrong.

Steve looks tired, leaning his chin on his hand at one of the tables in the bar, perking up as Bucky comes over. 

“Sam and Nat gone to bed?”

“Yep,” Steve says, then stifles a yawn.

“Why didn’t you go, too? Were you waiting for me?”

Steve shrugs, but Bucky is touched. “I didn’t want you to get swarmed.”

“_Oh_. No, I get it. This is the first time since we were 25 that you haven’t been the centre of attention, and you were getting jealous.” Bucky laughs at Steve’s frown. He’s too tired to defend himself, and Bucky takes pity on him. “Okay, soldier. Let’s get you to bed.”

The rest of the convention is still going when they make it upstairs to their hotel room, and it’s only then that the persistent danger warning he’s been feeling all night subsides. Steve heads for the bathroom first and Bucky strips, gets into his sleep clothes, takes off his arm with the relief of pulling out his ponytail at the end of a long day, and stands in front of the sink downing four glasses of water in a row. 

He’s lying on the bed covers, almost asleep, when Steve gets out of the shower wearing his pyjamas, and before he can move past, Bucky stands in front of him, grabs him, and pulls him in for a hug.

Steve’s arms come up automatically to encircle him. “You okay, pal?” Bucky nods, deliberately rubbing his face in Steve’s beard. “Are you marking me with your scent?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, feeling Steve’s beard rub right back. “We should do that more. I don’t think they really got the picture that we’re meant to be together.” He pulls back and, before he can remind himself to look away, sees the hurt in Steve’s eyes. “Steve, what—”

Steve pushes him back enough to get through to the bed. “Nothing.” He starts pulling at the blankets and pillows, purposefully not looking at Bucky. “I—nothing.”

“Steve.”

“Buck, drop it.”

Bucky feels his desperation start to rise. “Just spit it out, Steve.”

“I don’t get it,” Steve says, tossing the pillows down, still standing at the edge of the bed. “You’re fine with this plan, pretending to be a couple, but then you spend the whole night with Isabella and leave me alone.”

“You weren’t alone, you were supposed to be making friends.” Bucky doesn’t know why Steve’s mad. He’s the one who wanted to go along with this plan from the beginning, and he’s the one that doesn’t want to live with Bucky anymore. 

“I know how to network. It’s just—if we want people to think we’re together, shouldn’t we be together instead of splitting off? All the vampires we met were with their partners.”

“Okay, sure.” Bucky doesn’t know where he stands with this; he doesn’t want a fight, but that seems like this is where it’s heading. He should find out what Steve really wants, but he’s mad at Steve still, even if he has no right to be, and now Steve’s acting like the one who’s getting kicked out of his home. “Sure, we’ll spend more time together. If that’s what you want.”

“Of course it’s what I want,” Steve says, looking away after he says it. “I thought that was obvious.”

Bucky bites back on whatever he’s about to say. “It wasn’t,” Bucky says, and it’s unclear if they’re having the same conversation. He can pretend everything’s okay for a couple more days, and if he’s still hurt he’ll talk it through with Steve, even if it’s just to find out why he doesn’t want to live together anymore.

By the time he’s come out of the bathroom, it’s been long enough that Steve could pretend to be asleep if he isn’t, but when Bucky gets into bed Steve curls around him, an arm around Bucky’s waist, pulling him flush against Steve’s chest.

“This okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, trying to still the rush of his heartbeat, managing to relax only when Steve’s breath on his neck evens out. Everywhere that Steve touches burns, and Bucky has a hard time trying to fall asleep that night.

~

Bucky wakes up in the afternoon feeling groggy from oversleeping, turned around in his sleep to burrow into Steve’s chest. He can smell Steve’s sweat and the faded scent of Bucky’s body wash, and feels how soft Steve’s t-shirt is against his face. After a minute he gives up on the idea of going back to sleep and pulls away, Steve’s arms opening for him. The bedside lamp is on, and Steve has been awake for a while judging by the lack of gunk in his eyes and how clear they are.

“Ugh. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” There’s a hint of a grin on Steve’s face, the fucker. 

“That. Look at me so early.”

“It’s 2pm, Buck.”

Bucky groans and leaves the bed to find the toilet, groping around in relative dark to find the light switch. The bathroom is a cool reprieve from the bed, which during the night turned into a cocoon of warmth from Steve’s radiating body heat, and Bucky relishes the splash of water on his face. He waits for his dick to go flaccid before he takes a piss and can be presentable in front of Steve again. 

They haven’t shared a bed like this since before the war—and Bucky will always think of his life in befores and afters now; before the war, after Steve had the serum, before DC, after Bucharest. In the winter, when Steve would near freeze to death at night Bucky would curl around him to stop him shivering. It switched later, when they would share a tent in the field and Bucky was the one that was cold, anguished by how Steve ran like a hot water bottle but Bucky was damn near losing toes. He could never get warm in the European weather. It clung onto him like a sickness.

He grabs his phone from the nightstand and slips back into bed, flicking through his messages. Somehow Thor has reception in space and sent him a picture of what looks like a slug, except it’s translucent and as big as a cat, held up to Thor’s grinning face. Bucky snorts and shows it to Steve, who gives a “what the fuck?” face, as if he’s annoyed that he’s not the weirdest thing about science anymore. Most of his other messages are from Nat, updating him on what happened the night before, who she talked to, a rundown on the info she gathered. 

He pauses at her last message, shorter than the rest. 

_Have you two had sex yet?_

_ **Two who** _

He looks over at Steve, who’s resting with his eyes closed, though Bucky knows from experience he was up at 6am and probably went for a run while Bucky was still snoozing. His own phone buzzes from the nightstand and Bucky rises up to catch that it’s a message from Sam before the screen goes dark.

“Steve.” Steve _hmm?_s and Bucky nudges him with his foot as his phone vibrates again. “Sam’s messaging you.” His own phone buzzes and he looks down to see another message from Nat.

_You and Steve._

_ **Why do you think I would tell you that** _

_Well, you normally wouldn’t need to, but I figured I’d ask since we haven’t seen each other since this morning._

Bucky stares at his phone, confusion clouding his mind, before it clicks into place. He turns to Steve, who is texting frantically and has angled his body to stop Bucky from seeing his phone screen. “So,” Bucky says, and waits until Steve looks up at him, wide-eyed. “Natasha thinks we should have sex.”

“Yeah.” Steve has a flush high on his cheeks. “Sam was just texting me about the same thing.”

Bucky pauses to gather his thoughts before he continues. “Do you think we should?”

Steve clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. Bucky shouldn’t have asked, but after their kiss yesterday he doesn’t know what to think, except he would like to. He’s thought about it before, of course, because Steve is built like a Greek god, he likes to wear tight clothes, and Bucky has a working libido, but they’re friends, and he’s done a lot over the years to make sure their friendship comes first. 

His eyes flick down to Steve’s mouth as the memory of what they felt like touching his own comes back to him, his lips like cotton candy, soft and inviting, and all of that reasoning and higher brain function goes out the window. Bucky wants Steve to kiss him again. He wants Steve to want him.

He’s too chickenshit to say that, though, so he puts the ball in Steve’s court. Steve’s always been braver than him, anyway.

“I don’t think it’s a bad idea,” Steve says, and Bucky thinks, _that’s why you’re on this mission in the first place_. “It would help to sell the lie that we’re having sex if we are actually having sex.”

Bucky nods, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. Steve doesn’t say it’s a good idea, or that he wants to, though, so Bucky takes a leap of faith. “I think it’s a good idea,” he lies. It’s a bad idea. It’s a very bad, very shitty idea. But, god, does he want it. In that moment, with Steve’s eyes so clear and blue and with the smell of his sweat clinging to him—he’s wearing Bucky’s shirt, too, how did Bucky miss that?—Bucky just wants to mark him all over, make Steve think about him for days, weeks, and not in a friend way. 

Steve’s face shows his brain ticking over as he takes in that information, and he knows if Bucky wants to do something then Steve will find a way to make it happen for him. Steve has never denied Bucky anything he wanted if it was in his power to get it done. Bucky is Steve’s weakness, and he knows that, has tried to not exploit that, but now it’s too hard, fuck, thinking about Steve kissing him again with those lips and not wanting him. He doesn’t know what’s happened to make him like this, why suddenly now he’s feeling this way. Maybe Nat asking him about it spoke it into life. Maybe Steve kissing him was the catalyst.

Bucky reaches out to run his thumb over Steve’s cheek where it’s still red. “If you don’t want to, we won’t.” 

Even as he says it, he knows the inevitability of it. He knows what’s going to happen: Steve will say, “I want to,” and Bucky will go to him, fall into him, kiss him like he wants to. Steve will press his tongue into Bucky’s open mouth, and Bucky will curse Steve for having this effect on him, making him desperate, making him want Steve in the worst of ways as Steve presses him back into the bed, covering Bucky, slotting their bodies together. He will push a thigh between Bucky’s legs and he will feel his cock grow hard at the pressure. Bucky will push up, back bowing, making noises he’ll later pretend he didn’t. Steve will kiss him and kiss him, dragging his hand down, drawing more noises out of Bucky with a hand on his cock, breaking away only to breathe and then to kiss down his jaw, neck, collarbone, licking at the sweat that gathers there from the heat of their bodies, his big hand warm and sure and experienced. He’ll make Bucky feel like this is what all that experience was leading to, not just a stop along the way but the finishing line, and he’ll make Bucky come like that, pulse into his waiting hand, keening and swearing until Steve kisses him again.

Just as Steve opens his mouth, Bucky’s phone starts blowing up, making them both jump.

“It’s Rhodey,” Bucky says, and Steve makes a noise of frustration.

“You better answer it.”

Bucky keeps looking at him, looking for some kind of sign that Steve doesn’t believe what he just said, that they should do this before it’s too late and the awkwardness that’s been happening between them intermittently flares up again, this time for good—but he doesn’t get it. Steve looks down at his own phone, and Bucky answers the call.


	4. Chapter 4

Well, it’s definitely a cake of some kind.

“Like ice cream cake, except made out of blood,” the creator of said cake boasts. 

Bucky wants to touch it, but he very much does not want to touch it.

“Kind of looks like blood gelato.” Nat’s wearing sunglasses and drinking out of her reusable glass iced coffee cup, looking like she really doesn’t want to be there. 

The vampire turning the cake on its cake stand scowls. “It’s not for you anyway, silly girl.”

Nat shrugs and throws up a peace sign as Bucky apologises and leads her away towards the lounge area. “Seriously, Nat, what’s up with you?”

Nat pushes her sunglasses up. She looks like shit, and Bucky’s shouldn’t be one to judge after his period of not eating, bathing or brushing his teeth, but it makes him worry about her. He pushes her onto the lounge and she sags into it.

“Sam made me take a shower.” She looks upset about that.

“Well, I’m glad someone took the initiative. You were getting rank.”

Nat levels him with her own scowl. It’s hard being on the receiving end of it, because she’s one of those people who can light up a room just by being in it and make you feel like shit with just a look, but Bucky holds strong. “What do you want, James?”

“I want you to be okay.”

Nat sighs, kicking him in the thigh before settling her legs in his lap, and he takes her ankle and starts to rub with his fingers. “Well, I’m not doing great.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

She tips her head back on the couch, letting her mostly-empty cup dangle in her hand. “All of this shit got to me, you know? Everyone dying—Sam especially, you—then coming back after all this time, and I’m what? Just supposed to accept that everything’s okay now? Like those five years didn’t happen. Well, shit, Barnes. They did happen. Clint and Tony are dead, and I’m the only one who seems to have noticed.”

She doesn’t move much throughout her monologue, and that was always one of her specialties: to stay still and silent long after her mark is dead so that Bucky can check them, can blow up the facility and they can walk away, hand in hand like lovers do as the explosion meets the sky. She can mould herself to any situation like only a good spy does, but only when she’s on her game. Right now she looks like she wants to disappear.

“Is there anything I can do?”

She shakes her head. “Just you being here is enough.”

“What about—we never had a proper funeral for Clint. It was overshadowed by Tony’s funeral. The only family he had was the Avengers. When we get back, do you want to throw one?”

She looks at him with her mouth twisted into a crude facsimile of a smile. “What, like a baby shower? Congratulations, it’s a corpse?”

“Well, maybe not that. But yeah, something like it.”

“His grave is empty.” The words settle in Bucky’s stomach like a lead brick. “I couldn’t get his body back.”

“I know. When Steve went to Vormir, Clint was gone.”

She puts her hands over her face, and Bucky knows her well enough that he’s sure she’s not hiding tears, but an open expression she can’t control. She takes her hands away after a minute and looks at him again. “How did you feel about that, anyway? Did you think Steve was going to leave and not come back?”

Bucky chews on the thought. “No. Maybe it was tempting to go back to a more idyllic life, but he would’ve ended up on the same path he’s always taken.”

“Yeah, you’re right. He would’ve gotten Carly’s ‘Call Me Maybe’ stuck in his head for four hours and then come crawling back.”

Bucky laughs at that, at the thought of something so trivial undoing Steve, but when he thinks about it, he knows Steve would never leave him like that. Him, Sam, or Natasha. That’s not who he is. 

“I have faith in him to be the best person he can be at every moment of the day.”

Nat’s eyes sparkle with unshed tears. “Faith, huh? Must be nice.”

Bucky squeezes her ankle. “You’re fulla shit, Natalia. I know you know us better than we know ourselves.”

Natasha looks him over and smirks. “So you two didn’t have sex, then.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes. He glances around and finds Steve in conversation with an older vampire with greying hair who’s wearing what looks like an 18th Century sailors uniform. Steve looks like he’s paying attention to what the vampire is saying, attentive as always, with that ability to make you feel like you’re the only one in the room. Sam’s on his other side, talking to a vampire dressed in civilian clothes with her hair up in a bun on the top of her head. “We were, ah, about to.” By the time Bucky had finished debriefing with Rhodey, Steve was already gone and had left Bucky a note that he was at the farmer’s market down the road. An actual note, on paper, like he used to do back in the ‘40s. 

“Is that so?” Nat’s voice takes on the same tone that Sam’s did in the car when Steve mentioned them sharing a bed, and Bucky fights not to pout.

“Yeah, we decided we were going to. I said it was a good idea, you know, like a liar.”

Nat laughs at him, tossing her head back for a few seconds, and when she looks at him again she wipes away a tear. “Well, you’ll get another chance, I’m sure.”

“Maybe not,” Bucky says, and fuck it. If he’s laying it all out there he may as well lay it _all_ out. “I really wanted to, even though I know it’s a fucking terrible idea. It could ruin everything we’ve built over the past few years. Steve’s fragile at the best of times, and if I don’t play my cards right it could upset everything.”

“He likes you a lot.” Nat says, with a sense of finality. “He wouldn’t go looking for you for all that time if he didn’t. Even when we were on the run, living out of backpacks and taking down every threat that came out way, he still found a way to talk to you, didn’t he?” Bucky nods, listening intently. “You didn’t see it, but he was such a grumpy asshole all the time that Sam and I would put him in time out when we were sick of him. The only time he wasn’t grumpy was when he was talking to you. As soon as he’d hit the call button on his iPad and your face popped up on screen, he’d melt like butter in the sun. And it was because of you. Even now all it takes to cheer him up is mention that you’re happy and safe. He lives for you, James. So just don’t break his heart, or I’ll kill you. I know how I’d do it, too.”

Bucky’s laugh has a concerned edge to it. 

She pulls her feet out of his lap and stretches. “A funeral sounds nice. Yeah, that’ll be good.” She stands and shakes herself as if to get into a new headspace. “Okay, vampires, contacts, making friends. Let’s do this.”

They head over to Sam and Steve, who are still deep in conversation. Sam looks like he’s enjoying himself, and Bucky catches a bit of their conversation.

“Now I feel like I’ve done everything, you know? There’s no country I haven’t been to, no corner of the world I haven’t seen.”

The vampire scoffs in disbelief. “No country in the world? You’ve been to all 195 countries?”

“Try me,” Sam says, and he’s got that look on his face like he’s flirting, and, oh. He is.

She gives him a look like she’s testing the waters. “Okay, Serbia.”

“Hell yeah, I’ve been to Serbia. Hands down, best raspberries I’ve ever tasted. Next.” 

Bucky tunes out of their conversation to see Steve smiling at him, and he walks closer as Steve holds his arm out. 

“See?” Steve says, wrapping an arm around Bucky’s waist. “I’m already taken.”

“Ah, to be young and in love,” the sailor says, and it clicks for Bucky then. Love. Shit, he’s in love with Steve. 

Oh, Christ. 

He doesn’t just want to fuck Steve senseless, he wants to love him right. Nat said Steve cares about Bucky, but does that mean he loves him as well? If he loved Bucky, why does he want Bucky to move out? Is it too hard for him to think of Bucky not wanting to be with him? But Bucky—he’s so stupid. He’s so goddamn, colossally stupid not to realise his feelings. _Who wouldn’t want to date Steve_—Jesus H. Christ. _He_ wants to—he wants to date Steve. Maybe he should do something about it, like confess this love. Or maybe he should squirrel it away into the dark depths of his unconscious and never look at it or touch it again. Don’t even smell it. 

He looks at Steve and Steve is grinning so wide beneath his beard, his eyes crinkled up, and Bucky loves him so fucking much he can’t stand it. 

“Can I talk to you?” he says, his heart pounding in his throat, and Steve nods, still with that guileless grin. They’re walking away towards the lounge again when several vampires descend upon them—Isabella and others, dressed like characters from the Matrix. 

“Bucky, there you are.” Isabella is a sight, wearing a dress that looks like a cake, but not the blood gelato type, face full of make up again and lips ruby red this time. “Steve, too. You are inseparable.”

“Uh,” Bucky says, then gets his brain into gear. “Who are your friends?”

Isabella motions to a vampire with curly hair and what looks like a full latex outfit with a whip on her belt. Her face is carefully made up with eyeliner up to her eyebrows, and that coupled with her height, a few inches shorter than Bucky, make her look formidable. “This is her royal highness Rena Ostberg, queen of Pennsylvania.”

How to greet her is unclear until she holds out her hand and Bucky takes it in his to kiss the back of it.

“Goodness,” Rena says, pretending to blush. “A real man. I can see he gets his charm from Mihail.”

“That’s what I’ve been told,” Bucky says. He might as well play along. They’ve almost got him convinced he’s some sort of royalty, and there are worse things to be at a vampire symposium. 

Rena sizes him up with an all-over look, and Bucky’s not arrogant enough to think it’s in a sexual way, but he feels intimidated nonetheless and clasps his hands together. “A vibranium arm, then. Very impressive. Tell me, Bucky, have you spent some time in Wakanda recently?” She turns on her heel and motions for him to follow. 

“I was there last in 2018, before the—before the blip.” He’s still not used to talking about it. Steve’s following now, tagging along behind them until Bucky holds his vibranium hand out and Steve takes it. “Princess Shuri made this arm for me when I was there.”

“Oh yes, Shuri is one talented princess. I was there not long before you were, working with her on the blood substitute that you see being served at this symposium.”

Bucky feels the mystical quality of her voice like a fishing hook reeling him in. “What’s it made out of?” 

The crowds part for Rena, and by extension her entourage, Bucky, and Steve, as they make their way through the convention center. She picks things up at each table they stop at, inspecting them, smiling at the stall owners as they show deference. Steve’s hand fits well in Bucky’s and keeps him tethered to what he knows in the face of this new world he’s being drawn into.

“A compound of ferrous fumarate and liquid protein, thick enough to simulate the texture of real blood.” They stop at a stall with bottles of synthetic blood labelled Nusma. Rena takes one, opens it, and offers it to Bucky. “Have you had your iron supplement today?” She smiles sweetly, and Bucky knows that look to mean her making fun of him, testing him, or both.

Bucky glances at Steve, who looks completely out of his comfort zone, and lets go of his hand to take the bottle. It’s slightly warm and smells like cold medicine, and when he tastes it he almost gags on the flavor of concentrated protein and metal. He manages to swallow and hand the bottle back. Rena’s laughing, the rest of her posse joining in, and Bucky scratches the back of his neck to distract from how his face is flaming. 

“What did you think?”

“Well, it doesn’t taste great.”

“No? Well, more for me.” She takes a sip, a lot more delicately than Bucky did, and when she’s finished her fangs drop, one on each side of her top front teeth and half an inch longer. Steve’s hand grips Bucky’s tighter. “Come, I’m giving a lecture in about ten minutes. ‘Cross-Cultural Relationships in the Technological Age’. It’s all about dating humans in the 21st Century, you’ll love it.”

The other part of the hotel she leads them to is set up like an auditorium. Rena and her fetish gear-clad entourage make for the stage while Isabella floats behind them like a cloud, and Bucky shakes his head to clear it, dislodging his ponytail in the process. Steve’s still hovering around, looking as though he’s torn between accepting this weird reality he’s stepped into and running for the hills.

“You okay, buddy?” Bucky asks, tying his hair back again. His heart’s still beating fast when he looks at Steve, but maybe it was for the best that Bucky didn’t tell him how he feels; it would disrupt the equilibrium of their relationship, which Bucky is trying not to think of as a tower of stacked plates at a busy restaurant, because it’s not. What they have is, more accurately, a metal sink full of water: the foundations are solid, but that doesn’t mean the whole thing can’t be muddied. 

Except—they haven’t muddied it yet. In all the time they’ve known each other, even when they had to adapt to a new way of living or a new way of being around each other, it’s always worked out. They always worked at it until it worked out. So maybe his metaphors are shit and he needs to start thinking of things as they are.

Steve nods, smiling wearily. He loops his arms around Bucky’s waist and pulls him in until Bucky’s tucked into his chest with his own face buried in Bucky’s neck. “I’m not scent-marking you,” he says, and Bucky laughs.

“Didn’t think you were.”

Steve is still, always, warm, and he still smells good even though he’s showered, the natural scent of him coming through as Bucky breathes him in. Bucky’s heart hasn’t slowed down, and he wonders how he never noticed that before, or if it’s a new thing that’s only happening now. He doesn’t know what it means; all he knows is that he wants to be with Steve, however he can, in whatever way Steve will take him. They’ll talk about their housing arrangements when they get back from the conference; for now Bucky just wants this.

The crowd starts to assemble as Rena takes to the stage and Bucky and Steve detach to find seats. Sam’s sitting with his new vampire friend a few rows ahead of them, and Bucky resists the urge to throw some paper or a cookie crumb at him, instead sitting back to listen.

~

By the end of the night, they’re again all exhausted from sitting through talks and interacting with hundreds of people—vampires—who ignore Steve, Sam and Nat in favor of probing Bucky about his heritage, of which he knows nothing and can give them no answers to. They show him photos of paintings of this Mihail Ciobanu, who does look extraordinarily like Bucky, except for the nose and eyebrows which give Mihail the look of an isolated, Eastern European poet whose poetry makes barely enough to keep him alive. Maybe that’s why Bucky’s so bad with metaphors: he inherited Mihail’s talent.

“I’d believe it,” Sam says, sipping on the last of his soda. Natasha and Steve have tripped off to bed, and Sam and Bucky are enjoying the night as it winds down and the stall owners pack up. “From what Steve told me, you were always the special one.”

Bucky barks out a laugh. “What Steve doesn’t know about me could fill a book.”

“That book would be called _My Lover Keeps Secrets From Me_ and it would be ten pages long.” Sam stares at him pointedly, and Bucky groans.

“Please, don’t joke like that. We’re not lovers. There’s been no—loving.”

“On whose side? Because from where I’m standing there’s been plenty of love from Steve. He just doesn’t like to say it.” Sam thinks he’s so smart. He thinks he’s so smart and it’s going to be the death of Bucky one day. To think, they almost teamed up to fight crime and save the world together, before Bucky’s sense got the better of him.

“If you bust out that love languages crap again I’ll sue you.”

“Well you know what they say about the fundamental nature of the universe.”

“Nope,” Bucky says, defiantly.

“It’s the energy of love.” Bucky rolls his eyes, and Sam laughs and slaps him on the back. “If you don’t feel the same way about Steve as he does about you, then you just need to say that. Don’t string him along.”

Bucky frowns. “I’m not stringing him along. We’ve been friends since we were seven and he smacked Robbie Tipton with a brick after he called me a fairy. If Steve wanted to tell me his feelings, he would.”

Sam stares at him. “Did you—what did I just say, Barnes? He’s not going to tell you. He doesn’t use his words because he’s a caveman and was born in the 4th Century. If you haven’t noticed, the way he looks at you is how he shows his love. And that’s a whole lotta love right there.”

Bucky fights not to hide behind his hands or sink into the floor, so he changes tack. “What about your love life then? That vampire you were talking to seemed cute.”

“Vanessa,” Sam says, with a little bit of a sigh in his voice. “She lives in Arizona, flying back after the conference. She said to visit her when I get a chance.”

“Maybe you’ll be lucky and your Avengering will take you out west.”

“Maybe. Maybe I’ll just have myself a vacation from all of this.” It hits Bucky then how weary Sam looks. It can’t have been easy on him either, coming back and having to adjust to a world that left them both behind—that left three billion people behind. And now he’s Captain America, a job he’s doing beautifully, but Bucky’s seen how that can wear a person down. Steve’s barely holding it together. Bucky doesn’t want Sam to go the same way.

“I think a vacation is needed.” Bucky presses his precipitating glass of water to his head. “Thanks for looking after Nat.”

Sam shrugs. “Hey, I only made her take a shower. She needs help that’s way beyond my expertise.”

“Yeah, first thing I’m gonna do for her when we get back is book her a psychiatrist appointment.”

“She’ll love that.” There’s enough concern in Sam’s voice that, even if Bucky didn’t know how good they are as friends, he would sense that how much Sam cares about Nat. 

“It’s what she needs.” Bucky says it a little too harshly, glad she’s not around to hear it.

“I’ll make sure she keeps taking showers.”

“Thank you. I know you’re busy, you don’t have time to—” Bucky isn’t sure what he’s trying to say, and Sam stops him.

“Hey, it’s not about time. She’s a friend, and she needs help. I can admit when I’ve been too caught up in saving the world to notice she’s struggling.”

“Especially when she doesn’t want you to notice.”

Sam gives him a smile then, warm and genuine. He’s in the same boat as Bucky, having woken up missing five years while the rest of the world moved on without them, but, unlike Bucky, he hasn’t let it get him down. There’s so much to Sam that he lets go unsaid, but the world knows him now, just like it knows Steve and Bucky and Nat, and it says it for him.

“So Vanessa’s fine with you and Nat?”

Sam laughs. “There is no me and Nat. We’re not sleeping together, Barnes, get your mind out of the gutter.”

“What, seriously? You wanted me and Steve to get together under the pretense that you and Nat were, or pretending to, and actually none of us are having sex?”

Sam shrugs. “I guess that’s the way it’s turned out. Nat and I are friends, but seeing as none of us are getting mauled at this thing,” he waves a hand to encompass the convention, “we figure it’s fine to just go our separate ways.”

Bucky groans. “So I’m the only one getting set up with every vampire in the country?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Wow, Barnes. It must be so hard for you. You have my sympathy, really.”

They finish their drinks and they head back up, splitting off when they get to their floor. Bucky has to take a minute to breathe before he taps the proximity reader with his card, trying to think of the best way to approach how he feels without giving into the persistent fear that he’s going to fuck everything up. 

Steve looks radiant lit by the lamp on the table next to him, propped up by four pillows as he reads on his tablet, but then he always looks radiant, whether it’s buffeted by snow or half-shadowed in front of an open fire that teases at the mass of him, shrinking him to half his size. Bucky takes a minute to drink him in while Steve smiles at him like a complete dork.

“Did you have a good night, Buck?”

Bucky shrugs. “Yeah, but now I just want to sleep.”

Steve pulls back the covers on Bucky’s side of the bed for him as Bucky shrugs his jacket off, toes off his shoes, and slips into the bed. Steve’s still looking at him, not like he wants anything in particular, but just to look, and Bucky realises it for what it is: love. It’s love on Steve’s face when he looks at Bucky, in his voice when he says Bucky’s name, in his actions when he holds Bucky’s hand. It’s nice to be loved, Bucky thinks, and brings his hand up to Steve’s cheek.

“I want to kiss you first, though,” Bucky says. 

Steve swallows, the smile slipping from his face as the situation grows serious for him. It’s serious for Bucky, too, but he wants to be casual about it, because if he’s not, this thing that’s bigger than them could crush them under its weight. 

Steve’s voice is so soft when he says, “I want you to kiss me,” and Bucky does, leaning over to do it, his hand still on Steve’s cheek. Steve’s lips are soft and he kisses like a gentleman, letting Bucky set the pace. It lasts a few seconds of Bucky losing himself in it, how right it feels, how much he wants this, before he pulls away. Steve exhales shakily.

“Was that okay?” Bucky tries to calm his nerves by breathing slowly. He’s never nervous around people he likes, or around Steve. This is new territory, though, and Bucky can’t predict how Steve is going to react, or how he feels. It’s all up in the air.

Steve nods, his eyes still on Bucky, and it clicks then: Bucky didn’t need to worry. Everything Steve feels is written all over his face, from how fond he is of Bucky to how much he wanted that kiss too.

“Good.” Bucky smiles at him, dragging his fingertips across the edge of Steve’s jaw, before he slips out of the bed. Steve starts after him and Bucky laughs. “I’m getting changed. I can’t sleep in jeans.”

Steve drops back onto the mattress. “I won’t be able to sleep now,” he says, not put upon, but just an observation, like him watching as Bucky changes. Bucky tries not to let his face heat up because he’s changed in front of Steve before, even if it’s different now, even if there’s intent behind the look. When Bucky slides back under the covers, Steve’s smiling at him, but it’s a different smile than before, and Bucky never thought he’d be able to catalogue a new smile the way he has for everything else Steve’s done. It’s fond and a little bit mischievous, and Bucky feels himself melt in the heat of it as Steve pulls him closer like he did the night before. 

“Tough shit, pal. We got another long night ahead of us until we’re free.” Bucky rests his head on the patch of hair on Steve’s chest, but even as he says it he knows he’s the same. It takes a long time for his heart rate to return to normal, and even longer to fall asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky’s alone when he wakes up, and he thinks of it as a blessing because, with how horny he is, he probably would have mauled Steve if he was there. He falls out of bed, uses the can, jerks off in the shower thinking about Steve, pulls on some clean clothes, and braids his hair back. He massages his shoulder, sore from leaving his arm on the night before, and harbours ideas of raiding the downstairs continental buffet for lunch. Before he can, the door opens and the man himself waltzes in, humming and carrying a paper bag and two coffees bigger than his head. Bucky immediately perks up.

“That for me?”

When Steve sees Bucky, his face immediately bunches up into something resembling mashed potato and he pulls Bucky in for a hug with his free hand, which Bucky submits to willingly, hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder. “I bought you food, figured you would be hungry. There was a hipster bakery a couple blocks away.”

Bucky is pleased that Steve braved a hipster bakery for him and lets Steve hug him for at least another fifteen seconds before he pulls away and makes grabby hands. There are muffins in the bag, four of them, and the coffee tastes like the baristas care about beans instead of incinerating them, so he takes a seat on the bed to drink it while Steve toes off his shoes and pulls his outer layers off. According to the weather app on Bucky’s phone it’s not that cold, but Steve’s ears and nose are tinged pink, and it’s damn near the cutest thing Bucky’s ever seen every time he sees it. He fights to keep the smile off his face and fails when Steve sits next to him, close enough to know he’s there but still giving Bucky space.

The thing is, Steve’s smiling too. And maybe it’s a cop out because Steve is always smiling around Bucky, but now Bucky knows from Nat that Steve is usually only smiling _because_ of Bucky. And well, that’s a whole lot more than Bucky ever bargained for, but it doesn’t mean he’s not going to take advantage of the information. He puts the muffins aside, hunger shelved, and leans over until Steve gets the hint and kisses him. Bucky almost can’t believe for the first few seconds that Steve wants to kiss him, and is kissing him, even though Steve was kissing him last night. Bucky gets a repeat performance right now, with Steve smiling into the kiss as though it’s not so gargantuan, this thing they have between them, but maybe it’s small and controllable and just for them.

But then Steve licks at the seam of Bucky’s lips and Bucky’s need to have Steve’s tongue in his mouth rears its head. He opens up, teasing Steve’s tongue with his own, and when Steve kisses him deeper Bucky feels his whole body flush with heat, aching to touch him. He sighs into the kiss and licks into Steve’s mouth. When Steve sucks on his tongue, it makes Bucky lose a little bit of his control. He drops his coffee on his foot, kicks it away in his haste to cup Steve’s face with his hands, kissing him more harshly, more feverishly, and Steve gives as good as he gets, running his hands up Bucky’s sides as he does. 

Bucky breaks away, struck by how intense the situation is. He looks into the deep blue of Steve’s eyes and searches for meaning. “Tell me this isn’t a bad idea,” he says, as desperate in this as he is to kiss Steve. “Tell me you know what you want.”

Steve just smiles at him from beneath his beard, corners of his eyes crinkled up as his thumb brushes over Bucky’s hip and back again. “It’s not a bad idea if it’s what we both want.”

Bucky returns the smile, feeling it from his bones, and kisses Steve again. Steve words amp up the intensity of what they’re doing, and his hands grip Bucky’s waist while Bucky’s thread through Steve’s hair. It turns heavy and wanting, both of them gasping when Steve pulls away to kiss down Bucky’s throat.

“You know when you’re a kid,” Bucky says, tilting his head back for easier access, “and you want a toy or a book or something really bad, and your ma says no, no matter how much you cry and throw a tantrum about it—but then you’d wake up on Christmas morning and it would be there waiting for you?”

Steve pulls back to snort. “Well, seeing as ma and me never had any money, I knew better than to ask for things I wasn’t gonna get.”

Bucky feels a modicum of pity for all of half a second before he shoves at Steve’s arm. “How about every time you came to ours for Christmas, huh? What was waiting for you then?”

Steve has the wherewithal to look sheepish. 

“Yeah, exactly, punk. Let me finish what I was saying.”

“Uh, huh,” Steve says, kissing the edge of Bucky’s jaw, “something about being a spoiled brat?”

“This is what that’s like. Wanting something so badly when the whole world is telling you that you can’t, you’re not allowed—” His breath hitches when Steve slides a hand under his t-shirt, fitting his broad palm over Bucky’s soft belly. “—but you know you want it anyway, and then finally getting it.”

Steve pulls back, his eyes wide, with that look of wonder in his eyes he always gets when he looks at Bucky, and asks, “Is it what you hoped it would be?”

Bucky can’t breathe with what he feels, and each time he thinks he knows what it is, what this feeling is, like maybe he can name it and stop its power over him, it sweeps him off his feet. “Well, yeah, Steve. It’s you.” 

Steve kisses him again, soft, and Bucky’s had enough of it. He wants Steve all over him, under him, in him, around him—any way he can get him, he wants Steve. He leans back and pulls Steve with him until they’re lying back on the bed and Steve’s half covering him, legs tangled as Bucky hooks his free one over his hip, Steve leaning the bulk of his weight on his arm. 

“Have you been thinking about this?” Steve asks, smugness in his voice, as if anyone wouldn’t.

“What, since I jacked off in the shower twenty minutes ago? Can’t say I have.”

His flush has been slowly working his way up his chest and neck this whole time, but now it blossoms on his cheeks. “Oh, you touched yourself thinking about me?”

“You or the menagerie of other handsome, six-foot-tall blonde men in my life, yeah. One or the other.”

Steve ducks his head to hide his laughter in Bucky’s neck. “Do you want me to touch you now, or is once enough for the day?” 

Whatever knock-off version of the serum is in Bucky’s body still worked in similar ways to Steve’s; it didn’t make him taller or more muscley, but it did heighten his metabolism, give him super strength, make him heal faster, and, oh yeah, shorten his refractory period to about ten minutes. So when Steve says those words into Bucky’s skin, it takes his dick no effort at all to grow hard, even trapped in his jeans as it is. 

“Yeah, touch me, please,” Bucky says, and that’s all it takes for Steve to slide a hand down his body and flick the button on his jeans. They’re both watching as Steve slides his zipper down, Bucky’s dick growing fatter as his jeans split, and it seems to take an age of waiting and holding their breath before Steve stops. Bucky’s mouth is dry with the anticipation, his body tensed as he waits for Steve to just touch him already, and he is rewarded for his patience when Steve does, when Steve pushes his fingers beneath the waistband of his underwear and wraps his cock up in that big palm of his, fitting perfectly like Bucky was made for him and he for Bucky. 

Their gazes meet then, their foolish, schoolboy grins matching as Bucky grows warm all over from Steve’s touch, as if this is the first time Steve’s touched, as if this is the first time Bucky’s been touched. Steve leans down to nose at him and kiss him some more, which Bucky responds to gratefully, smiling into it.

“Come on, Steve,” Bucky says softly, no more than coaxing him. “Is touch all you wanna do?”

Steve laughs, pets Bucky’s hair with one hand and squeezes his dick with the other, and that’s when all of Bucky’s sense leaves the room, dropping his head back onto the mattress. Maybe it’s because Bucky has never been with a man before, or maybe because he’s never been with Steve, but it’s different than all the rushed, dry handjobs he’s gotten from women. Steve’s hand is warm and calloused from years of wielding a shield as a weapon, busting his hands open for those first few months until they healed shut, and he knows what he’s doing—from himself or from other people, Bucky doesn’t want to know. 

He strokes Bucky’s cock leisurely, applying just enough pressure to get Bucky all the way hard, until he pulls him out of the confines of his underwear. Bucky lets out a soft mewl when Steve pulls his hand away, and he’s not prepared for the sight of Steve licking his own palm just to get Bucky’s dick wet as he starts to stroke him faster. 

“Shit, Stevie,” Bucky says, a laugh bubbling out of his chest. Steve just looks at him with that wide-eyed wonder until Bucky pulls him down to kiss him again. 

It’s even better now, kissing Steve and being touched by him, feeling the warmth in his belly heat up as Steve thumbs over the head of his cock, spreading the mess of his come around, pressing under the head to milk more out of him, and Bucky finds it difficult to do much more than let him. He’s getting off on how hot this is, getting a handjob from Steve with his clothes still on, until he feels Steve’s answering hard-on pressed against his thigh and he comes like that, spilling over onto his second last clean t-shirt. 

“That’s it,” Steve says, mumbling it into Bucky’s hairline, “come for me, Buck.”

Bucky lets out a moan as Steve pumps him until he’s spent, his hand covered in come that he licks off while Bucky’s brain fizzles out of his ears. “Yeah, that was definitely.” He can’t think of the words, but he can still feel Steve’s cock against his thigh. “Take your clothes off so I can do stuff to you.”

Steve laughs and blushes at the same time, trying to hide it in Bucky’s shoulder before Bucky starts tugging at his henley. “Off, get this shit off.”

“Okay, okay.” Steve sits back on his knees and strips his shirt off, looking as much of an Adonis as he did in 1943 when they were changing in the barracks, Steve trying to strike up a conversation about one of Bucky’s girlfriends while Bucky took one look at him and whistled loud enough that someone in the camps whistled back. Bucky was struck then, as he is now, at the curvature of Steve’s body, the roundness of him, how youthful he looks after a hundred years, the width of his arms, the patch of blonde chest hair that turns darker as it trails below his stomach, everything that is Steve in a glance, except now he gets to look, sits up to take his own ruined shirt off and tugs at Steve’s pants. 

“Didn’t I say all your clothes?”

Steve stills Bucky’s hands and nods at him. “What about you?”

“You’ve seen me naked before, it’s no big deal. This is about you, big guy.” Bucky is aware his dick is still out but he doesn’t plan to do anything about that just yet. 

“Okay.” Steve steps back off the bed, keeping eye contact as he unzips his cargo pants and lets them fall to the floor. 

Bucky can’t keep the grin off his face as he looks down at Steve’s dick, aware but uncaring of the way Steve’s face is flaming. Like everything about him, Steve’s dick is big and beautiful—and uncut, which Bucky didn’t realise would be a turn on for him. He stands there patiently while Bucky leers at him like a creep, despite his obvious embarrassment, but this is better than Christmas morning for Bucky.

Bucky holds out his hand, palm up, and coaxes Steve forward. “Come here, sweetheart.” 

Steve comes, surer of himself in motion, catching Bucky as he kneels on the edge of the bed, hand coming up to Bucky’s cheek, kissing him again. It’s all Bucky wants, he thinks, just to kiss Steve like this, like they have all the time in the world, like they have nothing else going on in their lives. How much of their lives have they spent on each other? 

Steve slips his tongue into Bucky’s mouth. 

Too much. 

Bucky sucks on it, teases it with his own. 

Not enough. 

Steve’s fingers tangle in the mess of Bucky’s braid. 

Not nearly enough. 

“What do you want to do with me?” Steve says it like he can’t believe it, like he’s the one getting everything he wanted. Maybe he is—Bucky didn’t know until yesterday that he wanted this, let alone that this option even existed for him.

“I have plans,” Bucky says, smirking up at Steve, who beams back. “On your back.” Steve kisses him again until Bucky swats at him. “No, seriously. On the bed, get on your back.”

Steve arranges himself on the bed and Bucky thinks, fuck it, pulls his jeans and underwear off so that they’re both naked, and then kneels between Steve’s legs.

The whole expanse of Steve is there for him, spread out over the sheets: his strong thighs and calves, his cock curving towards his stomach, his defined abs, the mounds of his pecs, the width of his arms—it’s all Bucky’s. Steve is Bucky’s, and Bucky is Steve’s, because they were made for each other. He always knew it—that they are the only ones who can match each other, each other’s ruin and salvation—but now he gets it, and he gets to prove it to Steve.

“Stay still.”

He runs his hands up Steve’s thighs, up his hips and sides, relishing the way Steve shivers under Bucky’s hands. He wants to touch him all over, but more importantly he wants to taste and feel him all over, too. He makes his way up Steve’s stomach, kissing and licking and nipping at his skin while Steve makes soft noises beneath him and arches up into the sensations. Bucky is going by instinct alone—he knows what he wants to do even before he does it, touching Steve in the places Bucky wants to be touched, sticking his face in Steve’s armpit, sucking on his earlobe, pressing a thumb into the back of his thigh, and getting the responses he was looking for. 

Bucky latches onto Steve’s nipple and rubs Steve’s other pec. Steve keens, trying not to arch off the bed. “Buck, please, you’re killing me.”

Bucky kisses him and Steve kisses back gratefully. “I know, I know. I got you, Steve.”

He shuffles down the bed, kissing his way back down, until he comes to Steve’s cock. It’s the highlight of Bucky’s day when he gets his mouth around it and Steve lets out a low whine. Bucky doesn’t remember sucking cock before, if he ever has, but he knows what to from watching copious amounts of porn and trying resolutely not to examine why he gets off on men fucking each other more often than women. He sinks down as much as he can, jacking Steve with his hand, before he pulls off. It’s not his final destination; he has other plans.

“Fuck, Bucky, god—”

Above him, Steve is swearing and making harsh noises, and he’s flushed red all over. Pearls of come eke out of his cock and run down Bucky’s fingers, sliding into the patch of neat hair surrounding him, down the other side towards his balls. Bucky chases them, lapping them up, taking Steve’s sack in his mouth just to hear Steve go off. 

“—please, oh god—”

Steve swears like a Catholic soldier, but it’s not enough for him. He wants to hear Steve really lose it, so he moves lower, licking into the puckered center of him, tonguing past the rim of muscle. Steve lifts one foot onto the mattress for leverage, rolling his hips down and pushing his ass into Bucky’s face.

“—fu-_uck_, like that, right th—” 

Bucky gets what he wants when he feels Steve’s dick pulse in his hand and Steve call his name, long and loud and low, and he keeps licking into him as long as he can before Steve begs him to stop. Bucky’s so turned on he only has to fist himself a couple times before he’s coming again, the wave of heat overtaking him as he succumbs to it.

He takes a moment to revel in his powers before Steve grabs him and hauls him up the bed, which is a turn on in itself, and kisses the everloving shit out of him while he runs his hands all over Bucky’s body.

“Was that good for you?” Bucky says, after a couple minutes of intense kissing. 

“Mmnnnh,” Steve says. “Yeah, shit. So good.”

“Good.” 

Steve nuzzles him for another minute until Bucky becomes aware of the state they’re in, but still doesn’t seem bothered by it, clinging onto Bucky like a lifeline. Bucky doesn’t mind that, actually. He much prefers it to the awkwardness of not touching each other when they both wanted to, so much unsaid in the silence between them, so much miscommunication.

He’s struck by the memory of their breakfast the other day, before all of this started.

“I don’t want to move out of your apartment,” he says in a rush. “I mean, I want to move in with you in your new house.”

Steve strokes his hair, pulling it out of the mess of whatever is left of the braid. “That’s what I want, too.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course, but I didn’t know how to say it. You seemed so deadset on finding your own place to live.”

Bucky can’t help the rush of anger he feels as he pulls back to look at Steve. “Because I thought you were kicking me out!”

“Why would I kick you out? I love you.” Steve says it like it’s the easiest and most obvious thing in the world, and Bucky is floored. His anger subsides immediately.

“You… love me?”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah, I thought that was obvious.”

Bucky tries not to sound sheepish, but he’s sure it comes out that way. “Well, I didn’t want to presume.”

“Well, I love you, jerk. And you love me.” 

Bucky sighs. “Yeah, sweetheart.” He leans back on Steve’s chest, letting the sound of Steve’s heartbeat fill his ears. “I do.”


	6. Chapter 6

The last night of the symposium passes pretty much the same as the last two have, except Bucky can’t stop thinking about the afternoon that came before it. His smile seems affixed to his face permanently, and he keeps thinking about the places Steve touched him, the words Steve used, how he loves Bucky so effortlessly. He purposefully splits off from Steve, sure that whatever residue was leftover from their sex after another shower, would be enough to deter the vampires, because otherwise he wouldn’t be able to stop touching him, and they’re in public. He’ll have to wait until they’re alone again.

Even during the talks he goes to—”Nest Dynamics: What Your Position Says About You”, “Intersectionality in the New Age”, “Humans Dependents and You”—he can’t help thinking about Steve. It must show somehow, in his pheromones maybe, because during “Consensual Biting and the Law” the vampire in front of him turns to him with a knowing look, while the one to his right sniffs the air, the look she gives him somewhat dirtier. He slinks lower in his seat and tries not to commit a felony.

Eventually he does see Steve at about one in the morning, perusing a stall of antique candlestick holders when Bucky sidles up next to him. 

“Vampires are really into antiques.”

Steve’s face lights up when he catches sight of Bucky and pulls him in for a kiss. It’s a short one, because they’re still in public, but Bucky can’t help chasing the taste of Steve’s lips, and Steve grins like he knows it.

“Hey. I was looking for you.”

“Found you first. Do you want to get something to eat?”

Steve nods and follows Bucky out of the convention hall to the dining area, catching his hand along the way. Bucky tries not to blush when he does, because he’s not that much of a simpering loser when it comes to Steve, he’s not, really, but he holds on anyway, at least until they get to the buffet table. 

“Did you notice how vampires are really into environmentalism? Everything is made of recycled plastic.”

“I really want meat, though,” Steve says, looking forlornly at the selection of food in front of them.

“You wouldn’t want meat if you were one of us,” says a voice behind them, and Bucky turns to see Eric nodding at the buffet table. “It’s dead. Forever, permanently dead. The scent of rotting flesh is anathema to vampires.”

Bucky turns to Steve with a grin. “See? Environmentalists.”

“What about all those juice boxes you drink out of?”

“They’re recyclable too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, loading mac and cheese onto his plate. 

“Care to join us?” Bucky says, but Eric shakes his head.

“Thank you, but no. The bar is serving wolfsbane-laced Nusma tonight, a special delicacy. Poison to werewolves, but delicious to vampires.”

He wanders off with a wave of his fingers, leaving Steve and Bucky staring at each other. “Werewolves?” they say in unison.

“Yes, werewolves. Were you surprised?” 

Bucky’s skills must have grown rusty in the past year because he’s never had so many people sneak up on him as he has in the past three days. Rena smiles her deadly smile and laces her arm through his, pulling him away from the buffet table before he has a chance to grab a plate. 

“King Mihael Ciobanu II was a god among vampires. He led the vampire rebellion of Louisiana in 1904, when many of our kind perished at the hands of humans who knew the truth of what we are. Even at such a young age, he was a true revolutionary.” She leads him over to the seated area and they sit as Rena pulls out her phone. “According to several websites our friend Isabella is privy to, you are his grandson.” She shows him a picture of Mihail at a party, wearing a green velvet suit and drinking blood from a martini glass. The guy had style.

“Oh. Okay,” Bucky says, stupidly. 

Rena’s brow furrows. “I know you are not versed in our history, but this should at least make you impressed, if not happy. Mihael was one of the greatest vampires any of us have ever known. He sired many of his own, and it was my belief he would have turned his living family if circumstances had favoured him in that regard. Unfortunately, he was banished from America in 1922 for crimes against his maker, and fled to Europe. He talked of a grandson, James, who was killed during one of your human wars.” She pulls up a picture of Bucky from the war. “This is you, yes? James Buchanan Barnes?”

Bucky feels a shiver down his spine. “Yes, ma’am, that’s me.”

Rena breathes a sigh. “This is wonderful news. Please, give me your details so we can keep in touch.”

Bucky takes her phone and adds his number, texting himself so he can add hers. That’s both parts of this mission completed: pretend to be in love with Steve and charm some vampires. Bucky would say he completed it with aplomb. 

“Wait,” Bucky says, the realisation dawning on him. “He was your—father. The vampire who sired you.”

Rena juts her chin out, a proud glint in her eye. “He was indeed. The greatest maker anyone could ask for.”

“Does that mean we’re related?”

“I suppose it does.” She lays a hand on his, and it’s cold, though not as cold as cryo freeze. “I want you to meet someone.” She stands as a woman in her mid-fifties comes to greet them, waving a little awkwardly. She’s wearing baggy jeans and her long hair cascades down her shoulders in blond and gray ringlets. “Bucky, this is Abigail, my mate.”

Abigail reaches out to shake Bucky’s hand. “I know, we couldn’t be more different. People are always asking us, ‘Abigail, what do you see in someone so gorgeous and confident?’”

Bucky laughs and takes her hand in both of his. “People are always asking Steve the same thing.” Steve scowls as he walks over with a plate of food for Bucky, and they all take a seat.

“That’s not true. They’re always asking me how I put up with you.”

“Because I’m so handsome and charming.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Steve shovels food into his mouth and eats in silence as Bucky’s laughter rings out. His puts his own food aside to focus on Rena and Abigail.

“It’s wonderful to see a couple so young and in love,” Abigail says, with a smile like she means it. “Not that it’s not great to see vampires in love, but so many of them spend ten years together and start squabbling over the tiniest things.”

Rena rolls her eyes from Abigail’s other side. “Not unlike a human couple. What’s the divorce rate in America now?”

Abigail winks. “Vampires can be petty, especially when they live in nests too long. They don’t acclimatise well to the human environment.”

“That must be tough.” Bucky doesn’t know what to say. Hopefully he and Steve won’t start petty squabbles anytime soon. Even if they did, Bucky is relatively sure they would be able to solve them.

“It’s nice to see another couple we can relate to.” Abigail says it delicately, but it still makes Bucky pause.

“I’m sorry?”

“One immortal, one mortal. It’s a lot to think about sometimes.” 

Bucky and Steve exchange a look, as something cold slides into the pit of Bucky’s stomach. It’s not something he’s thought about before other than noticing his crows feet and the gray in his beard, but now he is, it’s a slap in the face.

“You’re right,” Bucky says. Steve puts a hand on his thigh, and Bucky is grateful for the touch. “It’s a lot to think about.”

“I’ve upset you,” Abigail says, leaning back. “Oh no, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky says, waving it off. “It was bound to come eventually.”

“Oh, honey. It’s fine. It’s something that we talk about often. But we don’t have to discuss it right now.”

Bucky tries not to look away from the depth of her brown eyes, and smiles instead. “I’d rather we didn’t, if that’s okay.”

Abigail gives him a soft, compassionate smile that he instantly resents, as kind as she is. She takes his hand in her own and squeezes. Her skin is soft and warm compared to Rena’s. “It’s a tough conversation to have, but necessary. We should go.” She turns to Rena, and they have a conversation that mostly involves eye contact.

“We should go,” Rena repeats. As they make to leave, she says to Bucky, “If you find mortality no longer suits you, text me.” They walk back into the crowd, Rena towering over Abigail as Abigail glances up at her, happiness etched into every wrinkle. 

Steve flips his hand over on Bucky’s knee, and Bucky takes it.

~

By the time the symposium has finished that morning and all the vampires are done getting toasted on wolfsbane Nusma, Bucky and Steve haul their century-old bodies back to their hotel room. Even though they seem to be unable to stop touching each other, they’re too tired to do more than shuck their clothes and fall asleep spooning, and when they get up in a couple hours they leave straight away, the four of them wanting to get back to the city as soon as possible.

The ride back isn’t nearly as unbearable, mostly because Nat sleeps and Sam listens to his own music the whole way, but also because Steve leaves his hand in the center console and Bucky gets to hold it while he watches the scenery go by. It’s ridiculous the amount of hand-holding they’ve been doing, but Bucky hasn’t been able to hold anyone’s hand for a long time. 

His hook ups were usually one-night stands, and the women weren’t up for anything like going out in daylight unless it was to leave his apartment, so he usually ended up taking Steve wherever he wanted to go. The Met or MoMA just to get a little culture, or the Smithsonian, because Steve is practically horny for the Constitution, a fact that Bucky now intends to exploit for his own purposes. 

“Do you want to help me look for houses?” Steve says, somewhere around the forty minute mark.

Bucky smiles so wide he feels like his face is going to crack. “Yeah, Steve. I’d love that.” And then he proceeds to fall asleep too, Steve’s fingers laced through his own.

~

They have a short debrief back at the compound when they drop Nat and Sam off, and Bucky thinks it’s business as usual until Steve lingers at the end. Bucky has thoughts of sleeping for a week, waking only to eat and kiss Steve and then falling back asleep again, and makes a point to check his messages for the first time that day.

“I said you can get outta here, Rogers,” Rhodey says, not unkindly, swiping the boards clean of their mission info.

“Sir, I want to give my resignation.”

Bucky looks up from his phone and Sam pauses in the doorway to the hall. Even Nat stops wrestling with Lucky. The silence rings out as they all turn to look at him. 

Rhodey’s expression changes into something softer, kinder. “Is that what you really want, Steve?” Rhodey’s always been someone they can depend on to lead them when everything turns to shit, as they’ve seen over the past year with more aliens, the Serpent Squad, and adjusting to life after the blip. 

“It is, sir.”

Rhodey’s lips turn up in a smile. “Well, don’t be afraid to swing by.”

They shake hands, both of them standing tall as men of honor, sacrifice, bravery, all the things Bucky has come to associate with Steve and Rhodey ever since he met them. He’s a little awe-struck, and it takes him a second as Steve stands with his hand out for Bucky to hold, following him out of the compound as Sam whistles and Nat catcalls after them. 

“Did that feel good?” Bucky asks. The sun breaks through the clouds as they make their way across the lawn.

Steve throws his head back and laughs, looking younger than he has in ten years. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

~

Bucky drops the last box of Steve’s stuff in the living room with his muscles protesting at the first proper workout he’s done in months, or maybe the complete lack of working out he’s done prior to moving. There’s music playing in the kitchen, so it’s basically a work out. Steve, of course, ambles in with the last box of Bucky’s stuff looking daisy fresh after moving a fridge and a whole set of furniture.

“Is that everything?”

“That’s everything.” 

Steve puts the box down in the kitchen and then he and Bucky walk through the house just to look at everything and breathe it all in—their first house together, something a lot more secure than living in a rental in the 40s on a salesman’s salary. They come to a stop in the entranceway, Bucky failing not to break out in a grin when Steve pulls him close and tucks his face into Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Hey,” Steve mumbles.

“Hey, sweetheart.” 

The music switches to something disgustingly soft and sweet, as if their relationship needed a backing track to make Bucky barf. Ugh, they’re disgustingly cute and he loves it.

Steve kisses him again and Bucky savours it, like the last time, and the time before that, before Steve pulls away.

“I’m glad we’re doing this again.” He takes Bucky’s hand and kisses his knuckles. 

Bucky laughs. “We never stopped, did we? It’s only been a month since the symposium, and I don’t know about you but I haven’t stopped dating you since then.”

Steve gives him a look, a little curious, a bit hurt, and Bucky’s stomach drops. “You really don’t remember. I thought you might’ve but… something might’ve happened. You didn’t want me again. I don’t know, it seemed stupid, but it also seemed true.”

Bucky pulls his hand away and gives Steve his best “What the fuck are you on about, Rogers, you reckless bastard?” look. “Remember what?”

“That we used to do this.”

“I think I would remember that.”

“Before the war.”

Bucky’s stomach twists painfully. Of course he doesn’t remember the one thing he’d want to. If his brain worked properly he wouldn’t be having these problems, this missing time, lacking the memories that are no longer his. “What did we used to do?”

Steve’s hurt expression changes to one of sympathy—dare Bucky say, pity. “We used to kiss like this.”

Bucky feels something like anger well up inside him, but less than anger, like a shadow or an echo. “What else did we used to do?”

Steve pulls him close again and starts to sway, a dance. Bucky’s arm comes around his waist while Steve’s come up around Bucky’s shoulders. There’s nothing that he wants more than this, and he can feel it in the beat of his heart, the way it sings from the press of Steve’s body. “We used to make love. You were always gentle with me, even when I didn’t want you to be.”

“You fucked me.”

“Well,” Steve says, pulling away to look at him, smiling. “You asked me to.”

“What else?”

A wistful look comes over Steve’s face. “We would touch each other, sometimes for hours, just touching, making sure we were still there. Still real. When you touched me, I felt the best part of myself being touched.”

Bucky feels his throat grow tight and the need to look away, but he doesn’t. 

“When you died, I felt that part of me being ripped away. I thought I would die too. I thought the pain of it would kill me, and we would be together again. But it didn’t and I woke up without you. I lived for years without you. I had so much time in my life that you weren’t there for. And then—Thanos. Once was bad enough, but I couldn’t take it the second time. You know how I am.” Steve keeps smiling, but there are tears in his eyes. “If it happens again, I’ll be prepared.”

Bucky keeps looking at Steve, into the blue of his eyes until he can see himself swimming, and has his feet swept from under him again.


End file.
